


Prompt: Rose Garden/Religious Themes

by postmanbutters



Series: Pollska 100 Followers Drabbles [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Middle Ages, Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmanbutters/pseuds/postmanbutters
Summary: poland gets a crown of roses.





	Prompt: Rose Garden/Religious Themes

**Author's Note:**

> i opened up drabbles on my aph blog after hitting 100, so they're all here in a series! they haven't been beta read, so there may be some mistakes or errors. these also were written either 1. late at night or 2. after too much wine, soo enjoy them as they are

Poland was running through the rose garden as quickly as he could, his frock tied up about his side so he was encumbered by the heavy fabric. It was hot, anyways, and humid. He regretted not just going about in his under clothes, which Lithuania had done shamelessly. He’d scoffed at him that morning, but now, sweat beading on his forehead, he would have rather been improper than suffered the heat. He hated to sweat.

Finally, he came to a stop. Panting, a bit giddy, he found Lithuania sitting criss-cross in the grass with a loaf of bread and a knife.

“They told me I’d find you here.” Poland said breathlessly, beaming. He walked to his side and sat down, eyeing the bread. Lithuania gave him a small smile and cut him a piece, which Poland accepted gratefully.

“Why do you grow these here?” He said, gesturing to the roses. Poland looked around, admiring them. They were in bloom, and everything smelled sweet.

“Well,” He replied between bites, “I like how they look.”

“They’re hard to grow. And you can’t eat them. I don’t believe they’re very useful, we could use this space for vegetables, or a fruit tree. Would you like that, Polska? I could make szarlotka.”

Poland hummed, leaning back on his palms after his slice of bread was finished. He stared up at the blue sky, contemplative. Szarlotka did sound good.

“We could have a fruit tree somewhere else… my people like these. Have you been paying attention at mass? We just had a sermon on roses. Y’know, like, the miracle of the roses and Mother Mary, and stuff?”

Lithuania frowned, wracking his brain. He often found himself dozing off at mass. The sermons were long, and in Latin, which was not easy to listen to. His eyelids grew heavy so quickly. It impressed him that Poland, the first to sleep in late- especially when there was work to do, always seemed to be alert and listening. In fact, Poland was the one to nudge him when he began to snore.

Poland remained on his back, thumbing listlessly at the cross that hung around his neck, his blonde hair splayed out underneath him on the green grass, a bit tangled from his run, cheeks still flushed. Lithuania admired him, his full lips, his round cheeks. His heart squeezed with how much he loved him, even though he was frivolous. Wasting good gardening space for useless flowers, and yet, he loved that about him too.

“When Mary kissed the white roses in heaven, they blushed red. Isn’t that nice? She has a crown of them and everything.”

“I suppose that is nice. I could make you one.”

Poland sat up, his eyes big, “A crown?”

Lithuania nodded, amused, “It shouldn’t be very hard. You just string them together. I think the worst of it would be picking the thorns off.”

“You’d make me a rose crown?!” He said again, and Lithuania laughed, reaching over to touch that soft hair, smoothing out the strands with care.

“I think you’d look very fine in it.”

Poland laughed, his eyes taking on a certain shine. Lithuania recognized it as confidence.

“I haven’t earned a rose crown,” Poland began teasingly, edging closer to him, “I haven’t had any immaculate pregnancies, and I’m certainly not a virgin.”

Lithuania snorted, looking up to the heavens, “And thank God for that!”

Before Lithuania could say anything else, Poland leaned in to kiss his lips, sighing with happiness and toppling him over, arms wrapped around his neck. Now Lithuania was on his back. It was too bright to see well, but he could make out the outline of Poland smiling down at him, his hair lit up like a halo with the sunshine.

“I think you’ve earned one. You could make roses blush with less than a kiss, Polska. Just look at them.” Poland turned and looked, and the roses were quite red. He smiled despite himself, his almost-human heart fluttering from the feeling of being so adored.

He leaned down and kissed Lithuania again. And again. And again.

They lounged in the garden until sundown, and by then, Poland had his crown.

He wore it to bed, and still the next day, and continued to wear it until Jadwiga told him to take it off because the flowers had wilted.


End file.
